Thoughts from a Real Mother

When discussing a title for this essay my editor suggested, “Thoughts from a Real Mother.” I loved it. I have struggled with my identity as a mother, and that title went right to the heart of the issue. However, the editorial staff expressed concern that it might seem “too negative,” which made me wonder: am I forever to be qualified as an “adoptive mother,” while (politically correct or not) my children’s birthmother remains the “real mother”?

Three weeks after uniting with my six-month-old son, feeling overwhelmed and unsteady, I attended a playgroup organized by a group of new moms in my neighborhood. The room was filled with first-time moms at ease with themselves, their babies, and each other. Their conversations revolved around birthing experiences and adventures in lactation. These women were warm and lovely to me, offering gentle bits of advice and encouragement, but instead of feeling welcomed, I felt like a fraudulent interloper. I thought if I’d given birth, my awkwardness wouldn’t have been so apparent. That playdate couldn’t end soon enough.

Two months passed before I returned to another new mommy gathering. By then the weather had warmed, and the group was meeting outside at a local playground. As I wheeled my sleeping son through the gate, a mom who I’d never met saw me and said, “Oh look … we have the same stroller! You know, he really should be reclined while he’s sleeping … do you know how to do it … it took me forever to figure it out, here, I’ll show you.” Fearing she’d wake my son, I tried to stop her as she reached down and eased the seat into a reclining position. While grateful to learn of this handy feature, I was embarrassed that I didn’t know how to operate my own stroller. Chatty Mom went on to ask a litany of questions. 

How old is he?

Where’s he from?

How old was he when you got him?

What’s his name? 

Last name? 

Is that your last name too? 

No? What’s your last name?